Match of the Labyrinth
by Mendelbra
Summary: Twenty years after Sarah's first visit, Jareth is miserable. That is, until the Labyrinth takes his life into its own hands... COMPLETE! JxS


_disclaimer..I don't own the Labyrinth_

_This fic is a little different..hope you enjoy!_

Jareth perched on his throne, stiff and numb, his spine accustomed to the posture he had taken up for many years, permanently curved into a slouched 'S' shape. Somewhere, in the blur of time, in the planes of immortality, time had become the same, a humming drone of forever-existence.

He had taken to gruffly ordering those around him, doing the bare requirements for the administration of his kingdom and castle. Jareth took a mad bite at his steak. He needed more wine. Kings weren't supposed to despair, but if he ever landed in the grey-rimmed walls of purgatory, this would be it. He wanted to blissfully ride a rainbow or even fall through cool air, stopping only to land on the hard-edged ground in a shattering tremor.

Warily, Jareth traced the edge of his goblet. He remembered several times in his life when he felt sharp emotion that might define bitter mortality.

He recalled the blood lust of the battle. Warm crimson streaked around the wise face that had the ability to weave miraculous stories of pride, honor, and of dignity to his mischievous son. He froze with some deeper emotion that he could not explain in the midst of the ravaged field and placed a name to the face._ 'Father…'_

And another time.

Twenty years ago from today. A girl, bright and vivacious, dreadfully stubborn. Hard-headedness wracked destruction, and both of their hard-headedness compounded into an emotion inside of him. It ended quickly with the inevitable demolition; angry, power-filled words and the crumbling of the west-end of the Labyrinth. It took a good amount of time and labor to rectify the damage, but somehow he realized that his snippiness was the result of a discomfort expanding under his chest, not directed at the ruined, broken landscape.

Memories were all that he had remaining now.

"Eh, your highness," a small goblin with a tinny voice proclaimed, "'dis is the eve of the Highnesses' mother's death, when she was injured by the fiends at the border of the Labyrinths and the Darker Lands." Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. Fidius, one of his most trusted subordinates, could rant forever, drabbling on about the most minor of skirmishes between the land fairies and the gnomes of the Eastland.

"Some of the goblins want to cele…uh…commemorate…the event." Fidius glanced at Jareth with interest, his jutting cheekbones and too-big eyes characteristic of most goblins.

"Many have commented on the lack of parties and big…

"Do _shut up _your persistent whining, cretin," Jareth bit out," You are fortunate that I haven't thrown you into the Bog of Eternal stench or squashed your body into miserable non-existence."

Fidius stood with his eyes wide. Jareth froze. He'd never snapped like that before or lost control, not that bad; he swiftly took a swig of his sparkling white grape-juice, swallowing a lump of air that stung his throat. It burned; he hurriedly took another bite of his steak and concealed his urge to gag. Fidius slipped out of the room.

He threw his plate to the tiled floor in the direction of Fidius' departure, a break from the usual behavior of the Goblin King. He was always emotionless, curt. Since.. Since when? Oh, yes. Since _she_ left, nothing much excited him, or aroused him to act spontaneously. Apparently Fidius could be a particularly annoying creature.

His father. His mother. They were gone. _Sarah… _Yes, Sarah too.

Jareth turned his attention to his spilled meal and rubbed his forehead. The mixed scents of the different portions of his meal wafted up to him, a crude fusion, abuse of his fine olfactory senses. Basic, unsophisticated, entirely offensive, but also something ancient… and vivacious. It jolted him out of something, tingling his nostrils.

He felt hot and cold at the same time. The light of the room, from magical candles flickering from the large, vaulted windows, disturbed him. He knew it wasn't the room itself; it had been designed to perfection, passed down from generation from generation, the hallmark of his lineage. He needed to escape this ethereal world, someplace where irregularity would soothe him and bring him peace, regularity.

Cleaning up the mess with a gesture of a hand, with a sparkle of one of his crystals, he thrust on his jacket from his dinner chair. With some unspeakable emotion in his eyes, a swirl of glitter transported him into another world where he could discover what he was looking for.

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Opening his eyes he realized was Aboveground, in a place that seemed vaguely familiar. Judging by the twinkling stars and the deserted park, it was an untimely hour and unlikely he would meet anyone else. Odd nets standing parallel to each other were standing on the green field with a shadowy ball off to the side; street lights casted a black-lace of shadows, highlighting the transience of the shedding trees.

With another swish of his cape, he started up the street, his shoes clicking on the cement. As some subconscious force compelled him forward, the park turned into a mangle of bushes and then some time later a pond. The moon reflected off the water in a shimmery coat, rocks at the edge of the pond boldly infringing upon the illusion.

Forwards he strolled, the pond ending at the beginning of a residential district, with rows and rows of apartments. He found it humorous that these mortals would try to guard their possession with obviously fictitious signs. Beware of Dog, one stated. He scoffed.

He knew he knew this place. This street, that tree, these buildings. New, urban, and modern, but already aging from day to day. When had he seen this before? Why had he seen this before?

That apartment, right there. His head prickled; not a thoroughly repugnant feeling.

_Sarah._

He drew a sharp breath. Sometimes he would observe her here in one of his crystal balls out of boredom, but now, he thought, maybe it was out of an entirely different emotion. There was a sudden movement in her window, and the soft flickering of light.

The doormat was unraveling and bits of mud were splattered around it. Compelled, anxious, he knocked on her door. It opened.

She was beautiful. Somehow the faint light and the darkness brought out her ruddy complexion and demarcated her imperfect, perfect features.

"Jareth?" she gasped. A softer look came into her eyes, her penetrating, russet eyes. "I had a dream that you would come here."

And then he suddenly knew. The Labyrinth, that mysterious, magical force that compelled him. It had always been its own entity, caring loyally for the ruler that maintained it through eons and eons of time. He whispered a silent prayer.

"Come in?" she asked, tiredly stretching her neck. He looked at her, really looked at her, and realized that there was something in her expression that asked desperately, and something in his that answered her desolation desperately back.

He walked inside, taking in his surroundings. His lips quirked as he discovered that her abode smelled exactly like her; cinnamon and strawberries, an unlikely pairing. He didn't asked himself how he even knew what she smelled like, or even how he remembered it after twenty years.

"You can sit down, you know," Sarah said courteously.

"How old are you now, Sarah?" Jareh asked, the timbre of his voice deep. He already knew the answer of course, he just needed to make this exchange somehow more real.

"Thirty-five, Goblin King." Sarah replied, smirking. The use of his title made it more real for her as well. "A lot has changed, since..well..you know."

"A lot has not," his gaze bore into her. She blushed.

"Let me get something for you to drink." Sarah moved around him, walking confidently; wiser, older. Looking around, he spotted only one picture; rare, he knew, for the home of a thirty-five year old woman. It was one of Toby in a baseball uniform, his hair mussed, his face sweaty. His lips quirked; he would imagine that Sarah had instilled in him that same streak of stubbornness that he had so adored.

All in all, the room was bare, awkward looking. As if everything did not fit.

Sarah came back into the room.

"Well, then." she said, setting a glass in front of him. "I suppose this is the doing of the Labyrinth. I had these dreams, you see." She sat to his left on the couch, at a safe distance. She wondered if he really did see.

"Yes, well, I suppose its way of meddling…" Jareth started, abashed. He had wanted to say something else, he knew, but it escaped him in the moment.

She looked up at him. "You know, the Labyrinth never left me."

"You never left me."

"You didn't either." she smirked.

"Yes, I've noticed you've been doing that quite often now."

"What?"

"Smirking.." Jareth's eyes twinkled. That emotion within him, that despair or boredom or nameless sentiment that had perturbed him waned, and something else, something vivacious and new and dangerous had sparked.

"Hmm." Sarah looked away, a rosy tinge covered her cheeks. Jareth comfortably took her hand in his.

"The Labyrinth, it's missing something. Ever since you left."

"I didn't do something to it did I? You know it was years ago, and I was just a child. I didn't know what you meant, and what you actually meant to…"

"Shhh…I know. I shouldn't have expected…"

"Please! You don't have to shush me like I'm two, you know," she grumbled half-heartedly. He raised an eyebrow. She smiled.

"How is your family?"

Her eyes darkened with some deep sorrow, and he knew he had delved into a subject she would rather not discuss. "I apologize…" he began.

"No, it's just…I should be over this," Sarah sat up straighter, stronger. "They died in a car accident several years ago. It was Toby's birthday. It was my idea to have the party at a nearby hotel, but they never showed. And.…"

Jareth put his arms around her involuntarily, thinking of his own parents.

"It's not your fault, Sarah."

"I know." she stated steadily. "But I can't help it." They stayed in that position for a while, warmth against warmth, their breaths heaving softly in a faint pitter-patter.

"You seem like you've changed, Jareth." Sarah murmured, "You have changed."

" Yes, it seems so." he shifted. And cleared his throat. "Would you believe me if I told you that I have lost both my parents as well?"

She moved to look at him. Their eyes locked, zealously and reverently, and their want to feel, their want to discover what had excluded them both from the concept known as satisfaction in their lives, it overcame them entirely. Something passed between them; his skin tingled; her throat burned. She drew her face closer to his and he pressed his lips tenderly to hers.

Unlike what she expected, the sensation was cool at first. The feeling of his lips upon hers, skin to skin, assuaged and cleansed and relaxed. Then it grew warm, like pebbles on the beach; in the morning, as the sun rises and rages to its apex at midday, the cool surface of pebbles grow gradually hotter, until they can scorch and sizzle the senses. No one had ever made Jareth feel this way. So cold and hot; paradoxical yet soothing.

They only broke away to take a shuddering, stilted breath. Their lips touched again and sparked something. _Literally._ There was a small explosion of glitter, wondrous and ethereal.

"The Labyrinth," Sarah gasped, still breathless.

"Mnnn." Jareth grumbled, hating the interruption. Sarah snorted in spite of herself.

Naturally they kissed again, a mad rush of her kissing him or him kissing her, it really didn't matter; nonetheless they were moving toward something. It was death…or was it birth. Jareth never though he would experience or remember either, being immortal, but this sensation stuck.

Pulling Sarah down on the couch, he crystalled a large, fuzzy blanket. Enveloping comfort. The whole situation seemed so real and abnormal. It was real, but oh, so otherworldly; it wasn't normal at all. He felt her get up. Smiling, Sarah slid off his jacket, unbuttoned his trousers, pulled off his socks and tugged the blanket over them. The blanket grazed his back in caressing strokes as he did the same for her. She blew a strand of hair out of her face. Her breath was cool.

He placed his body over hers and they pulled together, shuddering. It was fleeting and forever, peace and passion, Underground and Above— all together. The clock chimed three.

The clock chimed three-thirty.

They were already asleep, intertwined.

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When Jareth awoke, he could smell Sarah making eggs in the kitchen. Cooking; so domestic, so intriguingly human. He slowly put on his clothing and slipped on his shoes, walking to the kitchen.

He paused to look out the window, his hand fingering his chin. He could see the pond from here; the radiance of the sun mirrored on the surface of the water, the bordering rocks framing the whole effect. The tips of the trees were starting to turn red and yellow and mothers were pushing old-fashioned strollers just below.

He strolled into the kitchen and sat near the counter. As his chair scraped the floor, Sarah turned to him, then. Her dark hair was adorably mussed, and her bright eyes connected with his once again.

"You know, there's so much that needs to be said." Sarah interrupted the lulling silence.

Jareth just raised an eyebrow. "We have time."

Sarah laughed, coming over to him. "_You_ do."

But Jareth knew, he knew that whatever had started between them, the feverous passion might be fleeting, but the golden foundation under it all was for forever.

After all, it was a match of the Labyrinth.


End file.
